Mirror Reflections

There’s another trouble spot.  Am I talking about a writing block or another age spot I’ve just noticed in the mirror? Maybe a little of both. For the most part, I avoid mirrors.  I quit looking at my reflection in store windows as I walk by. I don’t stop at every mirror to smooth my eyebrow or adjust a wayward curl anymore. I don’t even carry a purse-sized lipstick mirror, or even a lipstick for that matter. All that was left back in the Second Quarter of my life (the 30’s and 40’s maybe).

 As I am ending the Third Quarter completely absent of the daily required primping for meeting the masses at school or work, I consider myself free of society’s judgment to defy my age, shrink my pores, or make my age spots disappear as the ads so profusely promise.  I don’t think about styling my hair, or apply the latest goop to provide sheen after the once in the morning ritual of tooth and hair brushing. I am finally a Wash, Rinse, and Go Girl.  Free at last.

That is, until I finally glance in the mirror at night to repeat the morning’s ritual. Staring back at me is always a shock. My God, did I look like this all day? I can no longer just repeat the cute phrase that I see Mom looking back at me as I am more than a decade older than she would ever be. The sagging eyelids, sallow skin, and dull graying hair are harsh reminders that the Fourth Quarter is beginning and I have no chance to be the stunning athlete who will save the game.

How can I sing the “Aging Gracefully” mantra when I look like I tripped over a wayward tree root or piece of cracked sidewalk? It’s hard to be proud of the glorious claim that I earned every gray hair. To see joyous memories in every wrinkle or sag. That my waving wingspans were once firm loving arms holding children. I’m supposed to embrace the terms “seasoned,” “intelligent,” “mellowed”…hell… I love to pick wine that way, not feel like I look that way!  It’s plain and simple, this girl is aging, and faster than ever before.

 

Trying to find comfort in my reflection is really difficult right now.  Except I do try to think of the good side to all this.  I can still walk up to the mirror; I can still see it (if my glasses are on); lift my arms to brush that mop. I can just as quickly turn around and flip off the offending light and retire to bed with the same aging man of 40 years who unwittingly still thinks HE is the starring quarterback and I am his head cheerleader. Thank goodness  "the eye of the beholder" isn't lost on me!

A desire to be observed, considered, esteemed, praised, beloved, and admired by his fellows is one of the earliest as well as the keenest dispositions discovered in the heart of man.

     John Adams's quote was a proverbial slap in the face this morning.  It's amazing how some random piece of information can find the most opportune time to appear. Of course these bits of wisdom are probably always floating across our faces, but it takes a specific act or emotion in tandem at the right time to make it jump out and shake us.


     The details of my experience are really not as important as the lesson.  I can keenly identify with this basic need. That's probably why I decided to create a blog, and I revel in the observations and praises that I receive. It reminds me that I matter, and I am doing something right. Countless times you hear of wives hoping that their spouses would just appreciate the work that they do, and the opposite is also just as true for many husbands, right? Workers are constantly complaining under their breath and at the water cooler how their work is not appreciated by their bosses. So if you can relate to this disposition like I can, then why don't we recognize that very need in our fellow beings, and most especially our own children?


     I guess as parents of 20+ somethings we spend a heavy 18 years guiding, coaching, and yes, praising our young charges. But when they become adults, we (maybe I should shift to the singular)... I can't quite shake that facade. It's always with the best intentions that  I want to help my son and daughter through their lives. Possibly to spare them the mistakes that I made at their age, or get them to see that they should react to a situation in a better way. Boy, no matter how many times I've preached it or heard it, I still can't follow the old guideline, everyone needs to learn from their own mistakes. Instead it comes out  You need to.... Or  I've been around a lot longer than you have...Or  I've been doing this since you were in diapers, so listen up.


     Is it no wonder that I see my adult child bristle at this kind of "help"? I would have!  Maybe I can use the excuse that my parents were both gone before I was 30 years old, so I didn't have that kind of experience to model... or resist. But I have to say that is a pretty lame excuse when I was definitely taught and try to abide by the Golden Rule. I just seem to be selective in that Rule's use when it comes to my adult children. This intensifies especially when another parent and maybe a fellow sibling joins in and tries to deliver the blow of correction all with the best of intentions. Unless it's an out right and organized  intervention, the "gang up" approach doesn't work very well.


     I am blessed with a family that even when things get a little heated, we allow each other to have a bit of cool down time and amends are made.  I may not like how others react to my "suggestions" but then again, I can't always live by "Be reasonable and do it my way."  I do hope though, that I will try to be a model to my kids that when the time comes, they will  want to emulate rather than resist my behaviors. 

Silence

         I've been silent a long time, yet I haven’t moved away or gone anywhere.  Nothing major has happened.  I have stayed in the same place, letting the world and its petty obligations rush by me or swirl around me.  This blog and the treasures it held by reaching others was sitting quietly, patiently while I tried to catch the spirit, the whirlwind of seasonal stuff. 

        One new “thing” I have in my routine is a “smartphone” of which I still have many doubts about its worth.  One big surprise was that because it is Google enabled, when I downloaded the book app a long lost book I purchased over a year ago was waiting for me. It was The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo. I had given this wondrous book as a gift to many friends, but didn’t get one for myself.  Google had just started its ebook business and I wanted to try it out. Easy to buy but didn’t perform well on my ancient ereader. Long forgotten, until now.  It now greets me every day, and I can read a few words of inspiration once again.

        He had months ago talked of silence between friends, and that it may reach a point of feeling as punishment or rejection. Well, that hit a guilt nerve. How do I get back to friends when I have been gone for an uncomfortably long time?  Then I opened the passage for today, December 30^th, “We Are the Earth” He spoke of the intangibles as the deepest things: doubt, faith, confusion, wisdom, etc.  Not anything to be held, yet they are the very things that shape our lives.  We may spend years trying to gain wisdom yet the paradox is that after all that time we seem to have less to say. Nepo made a great analogy about that:  “Silence doesn’t diminish what we have to say. Just because sound always ends in silence doesn’t make the music any less precious.”  You know that feeling after the symphony ends, what joy spreads through your soul! 

        He goes on to make other points about how we become what we seek, yet this one comparison hit home.  It made me not only realize that the silence between friends in a blogosphere, or a sister friend miles away, or even that lump snoring on the couch can still possess precious value, but also that their silence gives us a chance to let their previous sounds become part of us. We then find that we do become what we seek.  And our lives are once again shaped by those intangibles of acceptance, love, comfort, peace, passion.  

MErry Christmas?

     After spending a week away from home on a trip only my husband wanted, eating out 3 big meals every day, and suffering from my usual traveling bloated-ness, I am quite literally “full of myself,” and I do not like it!  Notwithstanding, another birthday marker snuck in here, and I spent my day seething over the fact that my ancient cat has decided that my laundry room is now her extended cat box. It was a day of Poor ME and so I poured another glass of wine (along with my whine), toasted myself and got busy mopping up the mess. 

    While I was gone, I thought more about writing than really doing it, and I felt very guilty that I was not making time for my writing routine. As a consequence, the ideas dried up, and I started looking for things to substitute (devotion books, inspirational ditties) that I could borrow with due credit, of course, until I got my writing mojo back.  What would others would think of me if I'm not clever and witty once again? 

     And like everyone else, the holidays are drowning me.   I am stressing about what to get everyone, when to get into that nasty crawl space to drag out the decoration boxes, and how to get it all done.  I’m to the point of just shucking it all, declaring it a go-gift zone Christmas so I don’t have to think about it. Bah Humbug!!

    This selfish rant has a purpose actually. What these past few days have taught me is that I have been the center of my thinking. Look what I have done for everyone. Look what I am planning to make our holiday better. Look what I am doing to sacrifice my time to make everyone happy. No one else is making the effort to clean, cook, decorate, so I HAVE to. Look at how unselfish I am! Looking back on this first week in December, I thought that I was starting a most unhappy month, but there have been really wonderful moments already. Sharing a phone call with my little brother talking more than an hour about great grandparents and our thirst for the past; a small ladies brunch I enjoyed getting back to finding out how they were doing after my long tense absence from the group; a belated BD celebration with close friends; a delightful couch-talk with my daughter catching up after being away; a call to my sister laughing about my escape from the house to avoid the cat; a funny text exchange with my son. And also, just letting go of my fear of not having anything else to write and just get back to being in touch with all of you.  All of these could have been just as whiney and self-absorbing as my thinking before, but one difference, I was not thinking of myself as much as I was enjoying the company of who was with me.  

      No doubt I may slip into that gown of ME a few times more this season, but I hope I quickly remember that I didn't like how it fit. It's good to be back into the soft comfort of YOU. And by the way, how are YOU doing?

       

Before the End of the Day, What Do You Wish Would Happen?

       Interesting question, don’t you think?   As an exercise I was supposed to watch these people in various parts of the country answer that question.   The exercise was to focus on the characteristics of the people, but I was really into their answers. It was a bit difficult to hear everything because the filmographer had music riddled through it…an aggravating practice in my opinion.

       But the answers I did hear varied tremendously on the scale from personal to altruistic; from instant gratification to long term effects. From “have more sex, money, etc…to world peace. So I just thought I would rattle on about that for a minute and then pose to you that thought.

       Since it is only what I would want to see before the end of the day, I do consider it a person question, not one posed at the world to experience, so I’ll leave World Peace for another day.  Instant gratification would be that I would like that my cold…and my dear hubby’s cold to instantly vanish. Neither of us can comfort the other because we feel so lousy ourselves. It’s when I’m down like this that I think of all the things I could be doing if I felt better. When the cold gradually disappears, I’m back to taking it for granted.  An instant release would really jump my guns, and I might begin doing all I wished to do.  I know we could face the next day brighter and sharper. On a selfish note, sure I think a Publisher’s Clearing House bus should arrive at my curb…do they still do that anyway?

        Then what comes to mind… at the end of this day, I would hope that all the decisions regarding my husband’s mother could be cleared up. She has been hospitalized for 4 months and the Medicare has run out and her mental state is deteriorating. My dear husband is having to deal with this heartache completely alone as his half-sister is incompetent and incapable of having any empathy.  His mother is 600 miles away so the distance is making it even harder. I have seen him go from a fairly jovial, carefee individual to an inward, grumpy and angry man. I hurt for him and wish by the end of the day his pain would be over. Then comes the thought…be careful what you ask for... Ever read the short story by W.W. Jacobs  “The Monkey’s Paw” when the mother wished that her dead son would be alive again? Well, it’s not a good thing.

        So the bottom line is that by the end of the day, I hope that all whom I know can have the same thing I wish for – my loved one comes home and gives me a hug and looks me in the eye and says, “Hi, Love how was your day, I want to hear all about it.”

How about you?

Internal Monologue of My Tranquil Journey to Finding a Writing Routine

I used to teach Internal Monologue to my students.  It is a type of stream of consciousness writing that displays what is going on in the writer’s head while going through a daily routine.  There are several literary examples that I would show them such as Alice Walker’s, “Everyday Use” or Tillie Olsen’s “While I Stand Here Ironing.”  As I am in the beginning of a Writing Class to discover my own writing routine, I have below my reflection of this week’s  assignment.

        Woke up at 4 a.m. with terrific headache. Decided to work through it and maybe get in some uninterrupted writing time. I’m supposed to create a ritual this week. Not my forte. I am far from being a creature of habit on anything but leaving my shoes in the middle of the living room. So that’s the plan…

I had better take my BP . For the past 2 weeks, I have been going through this silent rebellion (more like cutting your nose off to spite your face) to get off my meds and continue my eating and exercise routine to handle it. Well, it was a whopping 190/102. Okay, enough of that. Pop the dang pill. While you’re at it, take a couple of  ibuprofen for the headache, backache, joint ache that accompanies every morning rise. Oh and the eye focus routine has to take about 30-45 minutes.  Make a cup of coffee and just meditate - one of the ritual suggestions (i.e. Veg Out) for a bit to get all the drugs to do their thing. It’s now 5 pm. Still too early to take in the sunrise – another ritual idea. Get on computer go to buddy pages of my writing class. Decided to see my buddy’s blog to get to know her since I haven’t heard from her in like 3 days. So I’ll write her another email.

        Wonder what’s at the class site to help me take in ideas for my ritual. The assignment is to write about childhood memories and food. Making lists. Okay let’s see  one… Lemon halves dipped in sugar bowl, two…chocolate milk and vanilla ice cream.. Hmm, What else is on the site comments…

         Another student has posted that she uses  a bouncy exercise ball as a chair at her computer. Bouncy ball. I’ve got one of those. Bouncing to the Beethoven’s music - yet another ritual idea. Probably quite a site when daughter walks in to ask what I was doing.

        Oh gosh this is trash day. Got to gather all the trash up and get it outside.  Last night Sam had raked our leaves for us and I was supposed to get them in bags last night. Well, I’m not going to do that now! It’s still pitch dark.  When does the sun rise these days anyway? Dragging the big trash canister to the curb is enough for now.

        Sister calls. We both have to have our daily jabber session. This will last almost an hour. Then we make excuses to get back to the laundry. Better make it look good, so pick up all the weekend cast-off clothes littering my bedroom floor, and put on a load of laundry.

        Back to the computer…Bouncy bouncy. Set up visual imagery meditation tape. Is it 9:00 already?!!

Oh, I’ll light a fragrant candle.  Can’t find lighter or matches. Well skip that.  Make a cup of tea... burned my tongue. Get back to the Meditation. It really worked last week. But it’s too soft to hear. I resort to hanging my neckloop over my ears so I can hear it. Only those who know about hearing aids and neckloops would appreciate this, but I will the rest of you to imagine this ridiculous sight of a 60 year old woman, still in her morning velour pants and plaid shirt, silently yet merrily bouncing on an exercise ball with wires hanging over her ears, in front of her laptop ..

           Headed back up to the other list on childhood memories and food. Oh scratch that. I’ll have to write that another time.

        Bouncy bouncy

        Tea is cold now.

        Looking out window at beautiful fall  trees. Wind robustly blowing .  Oh no, those 5 carefully raked piles of leaves that Sam created for me!! Well, no need getting them in bags now.

It is now 11 a.m. and I have successfully completed my goal of 600 words and hopefully a bit of entertainment for my dear bloggees . 

Children of Summer

It's October and my heart and mind is still focused on summer.

Ray Bradbury's style in Dandelion Wine inspired me to try his way with words. His beginning line to describe the great-grandmother character was that  "she had stuffed chickens, squabs, turkeys, men and boys." I loved that play with words. Here is my attempt.  I would love to hear how you would emulate his style.

In the heat of the summertime children will

paint sidewalk pictures,

make brownies, trouble, and

   obstacle courses for their two-wheeled, stream-lined racers; 

create "crafty" magnets, sibling battles, and 

    reasons not to clean their room; 

build new Lego cars, fortresses of blanket and pillow, and friendships; 

chase rabbits, dreams, or imaginary monsters; 

giggle through the slumber party nights; and 

cry,
 "That's not fair!"

 "Are we almost there?" and

 "Mom, I'm bored! There's nothing to do!"

Calgon, Take Me Away!

Ever think your life could be a movie? In MY movie, I'd have to let Calgon take me away...

The bug-gut green that I am spreading along the vanilla trim will
Eventually turn to "Bay Leaf  Brown" -- so says Sherwin - Williams.
Each stroke of the plastic bristled brush tries
In vain to hide the house's splintered past.

The ladder trembles under my paint-splattered Rockfords. My eyes
Squint in the afternoon sun, while dribbles of bayleaf bug-gut
Trickle from my novice fingers to my bony elbow.

A spaghetti western flute invades my ears.

The beating sun nearing the horizon
Chisels a ghost rider drawing closer.
          Clint Eastwood, riding?
I wipe my sweating brow leaving a bug-gut trail across
My nose as I peer at the approaching figure.
The half-painted house wails
While
This Calgon cowboy comes
galloping,
      trotting,
            traveling, riding, approaching
Under the ladder as a slipping shoe betrays
My balance and I fall into his embrace.

I've come to take you away.  Grasping his muscled torso,
I nestle into his arms as we ride off into the sunset.
Bug Gut Green dries to its promised Bay Leaf Brown
All alone.

You Can't Get Away from It!

Okay, I just need a moment to vent a little.


      You just can't get away from the lack of money. It’s only those with it, who say money isn’t everything. Oh, I know it isn’t either, but it seems every time I turn around, the issue of its absence in my life rears its ugly head. We will have to survive on my tiny retirement, and we definitely are quite frugal in our lives, yet broken hot water heaters, balding tires, and kids who also seem to have the same affliction need help. And then the case of the IRS coming after me, albeit mistaken (or is it really stolen) identities where collection agencies send demanding letters threatening to ruin you if you don’t fork over $147,000.(eventually resolved, but still!!)
       The constant bargain hunting, coupon clipping, “want vs. need” cutting keeps me in the know that lack of money is ever present. And the news on TV…same thing. Every evening report has something about the economy slump, bottom out jobs, and stock droppings. They shovel out this crap into our living rooms every day. It’s almost as bad as the national mindset that growing old is a mortal sin, and no one should have sagging skin, graying hair, age spots. Of course that mindset just feeds the NoMoney Monster because that all costs, too. The news is just the tip of the iceberg. When it goes to commercial, the screen is flooded with advertisements for high priced prescriptions, perfect hair shampoo, ageless skin creams or discreetly buying your Depends through the mail. And to make it worse, that “beauty industry” has not slowed down meaning that even those without money will give up anything else to keep their tresses highlighted and their nails polished. And heaven forbid that people find out that the Baby Boomers need to hide their bladder incontinence.
   Magazines, community newspapers, flyers stuck in your front door all harp for services, and products to improve your face, your house, or your yellowing teeth. Very few things are regarding the necessities of life, only the extras. And the extras are what has to be cut out when you don’t have the money. You can’t get away from it.

"Being Good"

     Growing up in my family was a blessing. I knew it then, and I know it now.  I incorporated a few "Be Good" philosophies in raising my own children, even if I may have wobbled a bit. The first "Be Good" I can remember is "keep your hands to yourself."  The "don't touch" rule was true at home with my siblings, as well as any store we visited.  It kept us from engaging in any kind of physical battle or touching  fragile objects that could easily be bumped in the store aisles.  If my own kids were following me into the store, I trained them to hold their hands together in front of them as they walked.  Much to my sister's and daughter's aggravation,  I instinctively hold that stance to this day as I go into a department store.
     Another "Be Good" memory was to "use your 6-inch voice."  This was evidently an utter failure in passing to the next generation as my delicate charges use football field voices.  It was no help to live in the country with neighbors safely living at a distance of a mile or so. And, it was also at their disadvantage to have a hearing impaired mother.
     The strongest "Be Good" advice I recall was "keep your name good" and "make me proud."  If I was ever in doubt of making the right choice, these words echoed in my brain.  That didn't mean I always made right choices, but I  was not left with a guilt-ridden conscience, but a feeling of pride that I was better than that bad choice.  I knew I had something to live up to.  Has this filtered into my own kids? I like to hope so --even if it not to the intense degree that I feel.  At least I know I am still very proud of my children and can only hope they continue to live their lives searching for their own conscience to guide them with maybe a little bit of their mom's voice humming in the background.

Zen-ful Acts

      The Zen of Anything? What do I know of Zen?  I've read Pirsig's The Zen of Motorcycle Maintenance and The Zen of Writing by Ray Bradbury. During a doubtful time in my life, I read The Zen Teachings of Jesus by Kenneth Leong which helped me re-accept my Supreme Power.
     Query: What does a Zen Buddhist monk carrying a yolk of water pails do when he becomes enlightened?
     Answer: He puts the yolk down for a minute and feels the full import of the moment, then picks up his yolk and continues on his journey.
     So there you have it.. Just about all I know about Zen in less than 100 words.  Intrinsically, I want to be more Zen-like. It seems so peaceful, unencumbered.  As I have aged, it is becoming more evident in my thinking, but not necessarily in my actions. Or is it?
     How about my Zen of Housekeeping?   I think I've been living this zen-ful act for ages.  Nothing has to be in perfect order, because I have already imagined it in my mind. Life goes on, and I don't have to obsess over the dirty dishes in the sink or the third or fourth layer of dust.  The obvious mess is really in my mind.  Whatever is on the kitchen counter is not as important as my outlook. So now I am enlightened by this new Zen of Housekeeping, and will ponder, as I fill the sink with opalescent sudsy water. Ah, Tranquility abides.

What is the Candy in Your Life?

      Any one with a conscience or a family  can be afflicted with the malady of melodrama, so today I just want to sugar coat the moment with a little sweetness. Besides I'm craving a bit of chocolate, and I want to think of how I can fill my day with smooth and creamy tidbits.
      I will call my sister who may be drowning in her own overload of melodrama, and we will have a nutty conversation about times when we were little and revel in the fact that her memories vary so much from mine. But we see that as a double treat of sweet because we now share two memories.
      If I am in need of satisfying a craving, I'll go upstairs to my quilt room and sift, sort, pile, and organize my luscious stash of material. Delightful, rich, mesmerizing colors of fruity greens, yellows, reds, and oranges as well as deep chocolaty browns and nougat tans. The desire to create something will always help those endorphins.
      If the sun is shining and it's not too hot or too windy, I'll visit another candy store outside in the soil.  When the over-indulgent clematis needs cutting back, I will pull, tug and chew off the errant vines and transplant a milder, softer ground cover. Dig in the soil, delve in the soul.
      Ah, I am satisfied!

Take any 10 years of your life and reduce them to 3 word sentences. Every sentence has to be three words long -not two, not four, but three words long.

1973-1983
Daughter loses mom. I’m the daughter.  Just graduated TT. Teaching in Tyler. Living with Rose. Tiny town Troup. Long distance dating.  Liaisons in Dallas. Discovered deceptive side. Christmas in Europe. Wild-A family joke. Discover Dad’s human-ness.  My own apartment. Lonely in Tyler. Learning to teach. Junior high challenges.
Janie joins  P.E.O.  I am crushed. First Christmas away. Travel to Wyoming. A world away. Rutledge Robinson engagement.   Wedding on 7-5-75. Honeymoon in Ruidoso. New CHS job. My dream job. Bought first house. Rich gets married. Janie is teaching. Dad and Tom. Life is perfect.
Perfection goes awry. Moved to Wyoming. Newlyweds with Uncle. Cable TV job. Pregnant within months. That saved marriage. For a while. Moved to farmhouse. Wayne Christopher Robinson. JOY JOY JOY. Building own home. Long working weekends.  Beer and Cousins. Janie marries Luke. Dad meets Chris. No teaching jobs. Finally at McCormick. Meeting new friends. Dad suddenly dies. Miscarriage doubled grief. Pregnant with another. Fear to tell. Stephanie arrives 6/28/82. Comes full circle. Mother daughter united.